


Oh My Stars

by wardo_wedidit



Series: But Blessed Was The Daylight [1]
Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (2012)
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:41:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wardo_wedidit/pseuds/wardo_wedidit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just another night in MJ's life waiting for her boyfriend to come home...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh My Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Because Mari made me read [ Perpendicular](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8952765/1/Perpendicular) because it wasn't enough that I ship these two like a burning _already_ , and then I got the itch to write a little slice of life at 11 at night. Title from the Andrew Belle [ song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=umjDHyfKxO8) of the same name.

It’s late at night, and Peter is out fighting some supervillian or another. MJ doesn’t really care which one, frankly--just the fact that her boyfriend has a reason to be out swinging through the city at one in the morning is enough to piss her off; the details don’t really matter.

She curls up a little tighter, holding her pillow close and breathing out slowly. It’s unbearably hot tonight and their air conditioner’s on the fritz _again_ , and the super is on vacation, which is just her luck, of course. She peeled away all the blankets when she came to bed and is lying underneath the thin sheet, calf of her left foot stuck out over the edge of the bed in hopes it may cool her just a little. Every morning on the news they report the new forecasted record-breaking temperatures of this summer’s heat wave, and every morning MJ rolls her eyes at their crappy little TV in disgust, which makes Peter chuckle over his morning cereal.

The heat is stifling, but at least with the pedestal fan whirring at full blast from the corner in the room there is some relief. If Peter was here she’d be sweating buckets; he always cuddles up to sleep next to her, nuzzling into the space between her neck and shoulder and wrapping an arm around her waist, tangling their feet together, and he always just _radiates_ heat. When he sleeps deep enough into sleep, MJ will wiggle out of his grip enough to be able to roll him over to his side of the bed so that she can cool off.

But damn if she doesn’t love that idiot.

She’d be lying to say that she doesn’t miss him. Even now, when it’s only been a couple hours.

And she worries, of course she does. Anyone who was dating _Spider-Man_ would be crazy not to. But she usually tries to wait at least 4 hours before she starts to really, full-on panic with worry, and it’s only been 2 so far. (As much as he lies to herself about how she’s not watching the clock.) Sometimes she thinks it’d be better if they just picked up and left... jetted away to some tropical island, or to Europe--Paris, maybe--and stayed there for a while. A couple months. A year. Maybe a lifetime.

Deep down she knows they could never.

It’s not just because of Spider-Man, either (when Peter’s gone sometimes MJ finds herself thinking of them as separate identities, as silly as that is). Yes, the city needs him, and Peter would rather die giving up that responsibility than run away. But that’s only half of it. MJ knows, for all the ghosts New York holds for her, she could never really leave it either.

A siren whirrs by, far-off and distant, outside the open bedroom window, as if to remind her how much she loves this city, despite all the ghosts it holds for her. She loves the _energy_ , the constant movement of it, the knowledge that at any moment someone in this very same city she calls home is having their life changed, or having the greatest moment of their life so far. She even loves the annoyances of it... Tipsy squeals as groups of girls walk home on the pavement below, the way a taxi will spray you with mud without warning as it passes you by, the dim, light-pollution purple they call the night sky, the exhaustion she feels at the end of the day when she’s walked the last blocks home from the subway station in her highest heels.

This is her home, where she belongs, and she won’t ever forget it.

Just like that, there’s the sound of feet on the fire escape. MJ rolls over just in time to see the curtains, already swaying from the gusts of the fan, part, and Peter climb through their window, pulling off the Spider-Man mask at the same time.

His hair is messy, just like it always is when he takes off the mask, and MJ quickly scans his face for cuts or gashes, followed by the rest of his body. There is a bruise purpling around his eye, and he’s limping just a little, but that’s not too bad. Especially for two hours.

When she sets eyes on his face again, he gives her his cheesiest, goofiest grin--all teeth. MJ bites down on her responding grin, rolling her eyes and flipping over to bury her face in the pillow, not to play coy or be disingenuous, but because she can truly never trust herself not to say the wrong thing in these moments. There’s always the temptation to scold him for making her worry, or to beg him to give it all up--even though the majority of her doesn’t want him to. At least, not now. And she doesn’t want to put that on him.

Peter already knows she worries. He’ll smooth a thumb over her furrowed brow when she frowns into the distance when they sit cuddled together on the couch, tipping her chin up to meet her eyes and shake his head with a reassuring smile, or--or the way he twines their fingers together and gives her hand a squeeze whenever they walk side-by-side down the street, using it to pull her in and kiss the top of her head. The way he doesn’t have to say a single word, but somehow she still knows he is telling her, _Don’t worry; everything’s going to be alright._

She pushes it all out of her mind as she hears him laugh, full and bright as he turns to his dresser, rummaging around for some pajamas as he slips out of the suit. “Aw, don’t be like that Mary Jane,” he pleads, his tone clearly happy and teasing. She makes a noncommital noise without looking over as he noisily shimmies into his boxers.

“Mary Jane,” he says again, his tone a touch more serious now, and he throws himself down onto the mattress, making her bounce a little. He wiggles himself on top of her, craning his neck down to kiss her cheek a couple times, fast and messy. She squirms away but she is already suppressing giggles, and he can tell. “Come on,” he continues. “What was I supposed to do, just call Vulture and ask him to reschedule?”

 

She flips over in his arms, smirking, and Peter grins back, reaching to tuck a lock of red hair behind her ear. “Who said I wanted you home? I was just about to sleep for the first time without the possibility of drowning in my own sweat; it was gonna be amazing.”

He laughs, leaning down and pressing his forehead to the dip in her collarbone. She combs her fingers through his hair and allows herself a small smile, biting down on it abruptly when he looks back up for the sake of playing along.

“By all means, I’ll get out of your way, then,” he says, moving to get up.

“Wait,” she replies, catching his arm and stopping him, heart speeding up as he shoots her a smug grin. His eyebrows rise as he waits for her to continue. She sighs, rolling her eyes. “I guess you can stick around. You’re not completely useless.”

His grin widens maddeningly, thrillingly. “Yeah?” he asks, wrapping an arm around her back and leaning in close, so that their lips are just _barely_ not touching.

She pinches his side and he yelps, jumping at the surprise, and MJ laughs. “No fishing, Parker.”

Peter pouts. “That’s just cruel, injuring your _already wounded_ boyfriend who was _selflessly protecting_ the people of this great city, Mary Jane--”

MJ rolls her eyes. “Oh for god’s sakes, just come here--” she orders, finally giving up the charade and grabbing him by the shoulder, catching his true smile in the kiss. He kisses back slow, sweet for a moment before pulling back and scurrying under the sheet and immediately wrapping himself around her.

“Seriously though, Peter, I swear to god I will go sleep on the _couch_ if you get too clingy tonight; it’s way too hot for this,” she informs him firmly, but he just laughs, his breath tickling the back of her neck.

“Whatever you say,” he agrees, pressing a kiss to the top of her spine. “Love you.”

Mary Jane sighs, closing her eyes with a smile. It’s nights like this that she thinks she doesn’t need anything else.

Becoming an actress started out by needing to be famous, needing to prove to her father that she could be so much more than he would ever let her, showing that even though he couldn’t love her, millions of people would. Because she is worth loving. Somewhere along the way she ended up loving it, and she wouldn’t give it up for anything now, but that was where it all began.

But with Peter wrapped around her, holding her close and teasing her, making her heartbeat speed up and her breath catch, that warm feeling spread through her chest-- _loving_ her... Sometimes she thinks that _this_ is all she needs.


End file.
